In My Perspective

Retirement

2009-12-17T05:46:00.000-08:00

I was sitting on the beach, alone, my mind wandering without any volition, when I became aware of a crimson red spreading across the western sky, and the shadows becoming lengthier. The hot aggressive sun had turned mild, calm, soothing and painting the ocean with a tint of red and orange. The sun was about to take a dip in the water. I loved to watch the sunset. It was more brighter than the sunrise, and more vibrant. My friends used to ask me why I didn’t like a sunrise – isn’t it wonderful to see the sun tearing the darkness and heralding a new day?
May be, but for me, the sunrises were over. It was time for sunset! I am retiring from Binani Zinc as Advisor(R&D), after a long service of forty one years…
Forty one years were indeed a long time. A major part of my life. My mind flipped back. I saw myself as a youngster, a middle ager, an old man. I remembered those days when I was a mere boy of 16 years old. I had just passed the pre degree exam. My father, who was a poor drill-master of a school, was finding it difficult to make both ends meet. A college education was out of question. But fortunately, I was my grandmother’s pet child. On her request, my maternal uncle offered me an opportunity to study further.
I had read about Bhilai, the Steel City of India, but never imagined I would visit the city or live there for sometime. I boarded a train to Bhilai on a rainy day. I was nearly in tears, because I had never travelled to such a long distance alone, and had never been separated from my parents. My proficiency in Hindi was a far cry. The only language in which I could talk fluently was my mother tongue Malayalam, which I was sure no one would understand in north India. With a heavy heart, and feeling tense because of the new surroundings and new language, I set foot at my destination.
That was some 44 years ago.
His uncle and his wife were living in a one bedroom quarters provided by the steel plant. It was only on reaching there, I realized how magnanimous my uncle was. With all their limitations, they had offered to take care of me and finance my higher studies. I was thankful for that.
The first day at Bhilai is etched in my memory. The climate was too alien to me. It was hot in day time and very cold in the night. After dinner, I retreated to the kitchen. I would turn the kitchen an impromptu bedroom. On the dining table, I spread the mattress and lay down, but sleep was far away. My thoughts wandered to thousands of miles away, to my home land. Sometime in the middle of the night, I would have plunged into sleep, because I became aware of a large number of cockroaches invading me. They crawled all over my body – inside my shirt, inside my hair. They had a wonderful field day. I tried to fight them with the pillow, but they returned with more force. I sat up on the mattress helpless. I thought I was perhaps enacting the story of Lilliput in Gulliver's Travels.
The next day, I changed the location of my sleep to the open veranda in front of the long tubular building. There were no cockroaches but the streetlights and the frequent whistling of a Gurkha watchman as he passed by the road every now and then disturbed my sleep. Yet I was happy. It was better than the dingy kitchen room.
A few days later, my uncle took me to a college, and I enrolled for the first year B.Sc degree course. Days soon became months. Suddenly the winter came. I had heard about winter, but never experienced such a freezing climate. Chillness hovered at the open veranda. I ignored my uncle’s request to sleep indoor. I was wary of cockroaches. Here I was safe. As I was prepared to sleep, a frost wind blew over me. I covered whole my body including my head with a thick bed sheet my uncle provided. Yet the cold air seeped in. The bed sheet could not protect me from shivering. I did not know when Ihe sleep came. It was the cycle bell of the dhooth-wala, the milkman, that woke me up the next morning. I got up wearily, and found that the bed sheet that protected me from cold had shrunk to half; the other half had been eaten away by some stray cow sometime in the night!
My uncle and Aunt were distressed – not because of the bed sheet. They were concerned about me. That day my uncle contacted one of his friends, whose wife had gone home for delivery. On the same evening, I moved to the house of that gentle man named Gopi. From that day onwards, it became a routine for me to take food from uncle’s house and sleep at Gopi’s quarters. The classes had begun, and life became orderly. At 9.00 am I would take breakfast and leave for college. The classes were from 10.00 am to 3.00 p.m. During the lunch break, from 1.00 p.m. to 2.00 when other students went to the college canteen or nearby restaurant for lunch, I would sit in the class alone. Without lunch. I had no money for such frivolities. I knew my uncle was trying hard pressed for money. He had given me food and accommodation. How can I ask for some pocket money too?
The paucity of money made me to think about a part time job. In those days, youngsters were flowing from Kerala to Bhilai City in search of a job. I also decided to register my name at the Employment Exchange. My uncle told me that to register at the Employment exchange, I had to reach there by 6 30 am at least because there would be heavy rush of job seekers from southern states. I reached the exchange at 6 am, and to my surprise I found that there was already a huge crowd at the gate, most of them came directly from the railway station with luggage! All from southern states!
At 9 30 am sharp, a Gurkha appeared. He looked around at the mob, assessed the situation, but did not seem surprised to find such an ocean of people. Presently he went back and came with a long pole. Is he going to perform pole-vault to the Exchange? I wondered. On seeing the Gukha, the crowd began to jostle to move forward. The gurkha unlocked the gate very carefully, but did not throw open it. He then moved one side of the gate, and with the long pole, pushed the gate open!
Like water gushing out when a dam broke, the whole crowd surged in. I also ran with them without knowing where they were heading to. Some fell, others tread over them. It reminded me of people running helter-skelter when policemen lathi-charged. Many footwear were left around. So many people fell down and were injured. At last I reached a place where there were boards, Matric, Non matric, Skilled, Unskilled, etc. were hung. Already long queues were formed in front of each of these boards. It took me a few minutes to understand where I had to stand. I was the last person in the queue for Matrics. Before my turn came, the counter was closed down. But it didn’t discourage me. I decided to return to the spot next morning.
The next morning I saw an even bigger crowd. It seemed the entire youth of South India had turned up at the Employment Exchange. But at least I knew where I had to queue up, and was there as soon as the gate was opened. I was third in the queue, and could get my name registered. I was hopeful that soon I would get a job. It never dawned on me that when thousands of people register every day, the chances would be quite remote. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I got not a single card from the exchange till I left Bhilai.
Meanwhile, my uncle got promotion and was allotted a two bed room house. I could now sleep at his house.
I spent 3 years at Bhilai. Though with all the difficulties I faced, I enjoyed that period in my life. It was a different experience, and it taught me so much. I passed B.Sc with a university rank, and I decided to say adieu to Bhilai. On the 12th day of receipt of the certificate, when I was offered a job in Cominco Binani Zinc as trainee chemist, I thought I have reached the top of the world!
41 years is a long time in a person’s life. Now when I retire from my job, as Advisor R&D, I look back once again at my adventurous younger days…
Suddenly I felt pretty lonely. I looked around. The beach was disserted. Darkness had spread its tentacles everywhere. The sun had immersed deep into the ocean. The peanut vendors had also disappeared. I got up slowly and sauntered towards the road, thinking about the day I joined Cominco Binani Zinc as a young boy of 20 years. It seemed as if it was only yesterday. Time had moved fast. I would be leaving Binani Zinc Ltd as an old grandpa. Yes, tomorrow is the D-day. End of a very touching and meaningful relationship between me and the company! Au revior, Binani Zinc, au revior!
Goodbye, my friends!

JOURNEY TO IRAN

2009-08-14T03:58:00.000-07:00

This day would always be etched in our memory as an important day. That was the day we, Two of my colleagues and myself, were leaving for Iran on an overseas assignment given by our company.

As directed on our tickets, we presented ourselves at the Cochin Airport, Nedumbassery, with much expectations exactly at 8.00 a.m. for the boarding formalities. After x-ray screening of our baggage, we paid the airport fee and moved to the check in counter. Mechanically we went through all the instructions at the immigration and security check, and exchanged whatever Indian Rupees we had for Dubai Dirham. A wad of Indian notes in our pockets would have raised our self-confidence level to greater heights. But strangely, these new notes gave us little confidence. We were not sure whether we got the exact value for our Indian rupee.

A long waiting at the Departure lounge followed. We could see through the glass partition, flights taking off and landing, and wondered at what time we would be asked to proceed to the exit door. At 10 a.m the announcement came, and we queued up to move towards the Emirates Airbus. The giant aircraft was awesome. I wondered whether people standing beside me could hear my heartbeats. I felt as if I were about to board a spaceship that would take me to the outer space.. I tied my seat belt and waited for the plane to take off. Exactly at 10.30 IST, the doors were closed, and No EK3531 roared to life. The giant bird moved slowly backwards, took a turn, gained momentum and flew off from Cochin airport. I said a silent prayer, I don’t know for what. Down below the buildings, roads, cars… all become tiny and miniature, and altogether vanished from the sight. Goodbye my land, goodbye. I mumbled.

For a long time no one spoke. Perhaps my colleagues were having the same experience. Except for the humming noise of the air condition inside the plane there was absolutely no sound. At 11.30 the lunch came, and it created a little activity. The food was excellent. It was a welcome relief from our normal repast. Outside, there was nothing to be seen. Only a sea of clouds. I doubted whether the plane was stationery or moving. Was it standing on a block of clouds? After four hours of uneventful flight the plane landed at Dubai Airport. My watch showed that it was 2.30 in the afternoon. An announcement in the plane said that the time at Dubai airport was 13.00 Hrs. Indian time was 1.30 hours forward.

We had reached another world. At the transit lounge our onward journey tickets were scrutinized. We were again frisked for any hidden weapon, and they told us that our onward flight No. EK977 to Tehran was at 18.15 hours from Terminal No.2, and asked us to remain in the transit area. A restaurant in the transit area was authorized to serve evening Tiffin to us, on production of ticket to Tehran. Spending five hours at Dubai airport posed no problem. We were in a wonderland. We went up and down by escalators, visited all the duty free shops and did some window-shopping. At about 16.30 hrs we sauntered over to the restaurant for Tiffin. On our way to restaurant we noticed a money exchange counter. We were carrying American Express traveler’s dollar cheques. They agreed to encash these TC, but we wanted Iran riyals. To get Iran riyals, first we had to exchange TC to dirham, and dirhams to riyals. It meant paying exchange commission twice. Why squander money? We decided to exchange the TC at Tehran Airport directly to Iran riyals. After the Tiffin we made phone calls to our houses and relatives at Dubai, and buying coca-cola, spending part of the TC exchanged for dirhams.

At 5.00 PM we reached number 2 terminal at Dubai airport to board the Tehran flight. Since we did not go out of the transit lounge there was no necessity to go through the security check again. While waiting at the lounge, we found that all the passengers were wearing suits or blazers; we were the only lot in ordinary dresses. The men were tall, handsome while their women were extremely beautiful and stunning. We tried to pick up conversation with some of our co-passengers but, alas, none of them knew English. We had an odd feeling that we were going to an alien, strange land.

Exactly at 18.15hrs, another airbus of Emirates borne us towards Tehran. It was just two hour flight from Dubai, and as soon as the movement of the plane stabilized, the dinner came. Since we were new to this place, we thought it wise to opt for vegetarian food. Soon it was time for landing. We have arrived at Tehran airport. But instead of leaving for the exit door we found the women passengers, Iranians and foreigners changing their dress to burkha/pardah. Perhaps the atmosphere outside was freezing. We pulled over our sweaters that was available in our hand baggage, and waited for the door to open.

Our watch showed it was 20.25 hrs (Dubai time). The local time was 20.55 p.m. Tehran time was 30mts ahead of Dubai time.

Tehran airport was not as big as Dubai one. The delay in the immigration counter remind us how sluggish and easygoing Iranian officials were. But that did not trouble us. We had seen such indolence in India too.

Outside we could see people waiting with placards to receive the newly arrived passengers. We were expecting to meet Mr. X, , who would take us to our destination. We expectantly looked out to see a placard with our names on it. But we didn’t see any.

The queue was moving at a snail pace. It took nearly two hours before we could come out from the immigration clearance and collect our baggage. The immediate task on our agenda was to get the American Express Traveler’s Cheques exchanged at the nearest bank counter. What they told us, or what we could transpire from them was quite shocking. American Express Traveler’s Cheques cannot be encashed in Iran! Apart from these Traveler’s cheques we had only two 50 Dirham notes with us. We consoled ourselves that Mr. X would find a way. So we moved around nonchalantly towards the main entrance to see whether any Indian was waiving a placard bearing our names. A chilled breeze welcomed us. It was enough to turn us to ice blocks. The cold truth that no one had come to welcome us hit us like a wet towel. We had no foresight to write down Mr. X’s telephone number before we left India. We were really stranded with no cash in our pocket!

We huddled together at a corner of the airport, feeling quite forlorn. We could hear each minutes ticking away menacingly. Each passing moment was laden with mounting anxiety and panic. We never expected to be in such a dilemma. The whole happiness of coming to Iran evaporated. What was we supposed to do now? How long would we wait for our escort? At last we decided to make a telephone call to our company in India. Two of us went to a nearby telephone kiosk ‘manned’ by a huge woman in black purdah. She eyed us curiously. We might have appeared like Lilliputian to her. Fortunately she knew English. Our heart-rending woes might have melted her, for she allowed us to make a phone call to India by accepting Dubai Dirhams. But before we could convey our plight, the line went dead. 50 dirham’s worth of talk-time was quickly over. Our only consolation was that we could at least convey the unenviable situation we were presently in.

Suddenly I found myself very thirsty. It might be because of my inner turmoil or because of the frosty climate, but I felt my mouth dry. I needed a glass of water urgently, or I might faint, I thought. Fortunately, there was a shop at the airport selling aerated water, and I asked for a bottle of mineral water. The shopkeeper looked back at me with blank expression. He knew no English. I tried once again – ‘Mineral Water’. At least he would have heard the word ‘water’ before. No, it didn’t ring a bell to him. I decided the direct symbol language and touched a cola bottle with my finger to show what I needed. He smiled from ear to ear and handed it over to me, telling me something in Persian language. It was now my turn to look blank. Perhaps he was saying how much it cost. I had only one 50 dirham currency note which I gave it to him. I knew it would cover the cost of the cola. He inspected the note twice, and returned it to me as if it was a fake one. Dirham was not an acceptable currency to him. Reluctantly I placed the bottle at the counter and walked back silently feeling dejected. My self confidence had gone. I wondered whether I was destined to die at a foreign land without a drop of water to drink. I stumbled towards where my colleagues were sitting. No one asked me what had happened. They knew. A heavy silence hung in the air. The time was 12:00 midnight. No one spoke. Our faces were grim. I could not help wondering where we have landed ourselves in. Who was to blame for this predicament?

Suddenly we saw a man trotting towards us. Our heart missed a beat. Was he a foe or a friend? We looked at him alarmingly.

He turned out to be Mr. X. Our saviour!

The relief on the faces of my colleagues was inscrutable. At last we were saved. Our happiness was so great that the question of his belated appearance was drowned in it. It was immaterial now. Later we learned that he was bogged down in a snarling traffic jam.

Outside it was freezing. A chill air blew through our body. The car park was just half a kilometer away; yet it appeared as if we would never make it before dawn. The journey through the Tehran streets, now almost empty was pleasant.On our way to car parking area a number of phone calls were coming to the mobile phone of Mr X , all were from India asking about our welfare… Mr. X took us to a flat, where we were lodged for the night.

We were dead tired when we hit the bed. Sleep charmed away all our troubles.

25^th March.

We set out from Tehran at 8.45 am towards Zanjan, our final destination. Zanjan was a mountainous terrain about 325 kilometer north of Tehran. As we sped through a beautiful Express highway, I could not help thinking about the arguments and opposition our people had against coming up of Express Highway in Kerala. In less than 3 hours we had covered 325 km! In fact, on our way, we had even made a stop. Thanks to our driver, we had tea, chocolates and some biscuits for we had no money to buy them.all we had was American Travellors cheques which cannot be exchanged Iran.

Snow fell as we reached Zanjan. The tarred roads appeared painted milky white, and all the vehicles were decorated with ice. And when we got out in front of National Iranian Lead and Zinc Company , it slowly dawned on us that the dress we were wearing would not protect us from the frosty -2^oC climate.

After the initial introduction, we were directed to the company restaurant for lunch. It consisted of white rice, dal, curd and some raw vegetables. We were ravenously hungry and the food tasted scrumptious. We were then taken around the plant.

In the evening, we went to Zanjan town for purchasing some woolen clothes, which we realized was very essential if we wanted to keep our soul and body together. We were housed in residential bungalows called villas. Two of us were in one villa and other two were in another villa adjacent to ours. The Villas were well furnished: three bedrooms with attached bath and bathtub, kitchen, dining room, cots, mattresses, blankets, room heater, fridge, gas stove, utensils … everything one needed in a house. All the rooms were equipped with room heaters and we felt very comfortable. The company authorities were so considerate that we had no need to go out to have our dinner at the company restaurant. Instead it was brought in a security jeep at about 8.30 PM. It had almost identical to what we had for lunch: rice, curd and vegetables curry. But we had pickles that we brought from home. With mango pickles, our dinner turned out to be mouthwatering.

The next day we got up early. There was milk in the fridge and we decided to make Nescafe coffee and for breakfast we had omelets, bread and apples Soon after, the car came from the company and we proceeded to our workplace. Snow continued to fall and it was amusing to see the trees bereft of their leaves, standing like giant scarecrows in white coats.

Since that day till 21^st April, I worked in the laboratory as also in the pilot plant of that company to help them to improve their processes.

Usually we returned from the plant after 7 p.m. We had nothing else to do at the villa except watch TV, which normally broadcast religious programmes or football matches or other sports events. On some days Amitabh Bachhan’s movies dubbed into Iranian language minus the dance sequences were shown. Communicating with the people was the most difficult thing we have encountered. Even educated class did not know English. When we went for shopping, we never knew what was the actual price of the material we bought, for we would spread out all the currency we were carrying and the shopkeeper would take out whatever he desired. Like Japan Yen, Riyal is a very cheap currency. One Indian rupee is equivalent to 190 Iraniyan Riyal. One American dollar is more than 8200 Riyals. For convenience sake they would convert Riyals into Thomans. One hundred Riyal is one Thoman. So instead of saying 100,000 Riyals they would say the cost is 1000 Thomans, although no such Thoman currency note exists.

No common man understand the word ‘car’. For car, they said ‘machines’. Every morning, after getting ready to go to the company, we would dial to the company driver, and speak just three words: ‘villa…Ajmoishka…Machine”. The driver understood it perfectly. He knew that this was a call from the Hindustanis staying at villa and they needed a car to go to Ajmoishka (laboratory) from the villa (Bungalow). In the evening we would reverse it by saying “Ajmoishka…villa…machine”. Immediately after the ‘machine’ comes, we would open the door and greet the driver, Salam Alaikum. It pleased him immensely. After reaching the village we would say khuda Hafeez, and he would wave his hands and go away happily. Once we reach the villa, we never went out because there was not even a single shop within the 8 kilometer radius. Even the matches required for the gas stove was provided by the company. Secondly, only a fool would venture out to the cold from the cozy interior of the villa, controlled by room heaters.

From the villa it would appear as if the whole Iran is surrounded by mountains from all sides, caped with white snow. The place where we lived in Zanjan is a semi mountainous area covering almost 22000 sq.km with a population of just nine lakhs. The area where the factory is located is so remote that the only inhabitants in this area are the residents of 20 to 30 villas owned by the company. The main population of Zanjan lived 8 km away in Zanjan town. Zanjan is famous for carpets, dry fruits and Saffron. Carpets are extensively made in this place and exported. These carpets are very costly, for they use gold and silver threads to give the carpets a magnificent appearance. More than twelve varieties of dry fruits are available at Zanjan ; some of them are very tasty and sweet. Saffron and woolen clothes are also available, but saffron is comparatively costly.

A translator was assigned to us by the company. She was a 25 year old lady, a Russian descendant settled in Iran. Without her help we could not have gone far. But by our .

After two weeks of hectic job in the laboratory, we decided to avail a day off. One mini bus was arranged by the company, all of us went on a sight seeing trip. The outside temperature at that time was around 10 ⁰ c

. We visited Sultania Dome first. This magnificent Dome was too big that it is the third largest historical building in the world. This was constructed by Sultan Mohamed Khodabandeh sometime in the 13^th century. Since the Dome was under renovation, we could not spent much time there. We then proceeded to Katlekhour cave, situated 163 km away from Zanjan town. For the first time, we could see so many Iranian women on our way. From head to foot they covered themselves with big black clothes, exposing only face and palms. They looked however, very sad. Perhaps they were a suppressed lot. We were told that Iranian women are not supposed to dance or sing. They cannot even go out to see a football match outside. Totally isolated life, yet it surprised me to see them working in the offices and factories. Most of the women are well educated than men. Iranian women are most beautiful. They were pure white with jet black hair.

We reached Khatlekhour cave around 2 p.m, and before entering the cave, we had some snacks and cola for lunch. Katlekhour cave is located at the north east of the Zanjan province. From geologist point of view it is one of worlds best tourist attractions. One guide was leading us with other tourists. The cave is inside a mountain, and it is formed of three floors having subsidiary tunnels, innumerable stalagmite with splendid pillars at the main pathways. The cave is made of limestones and there were different shaped structures hanging from the roof of the cave. Due to the presence of some other elements as impurities, limestone lanterns hanging from the roof of the cave gave out different color lights. These lanterns were made from transparent crystals of different shape and size.

Out of the three floors of the cave, the bottom floor is completely filled with water with wild coral like growths. The length of the cave was approx. 30 km, out of which only 2.5 km is accessible to tourist. Low lights were provided in the cave to preserve its natural beauty.

As we advanced in the cave we could see several structures of limestone growths in different shapes. Each location is so named to reveal the shape of the limestone structure to be found there, like Elephant Foot, Lion Paw, Bride and Groom, etc. Crystal clear water could also be seen at some places. Different colour transparent lantern like structures hanging from the roof was the main attraction.

At one place a mummy was also seen. It was said to be the body of a man who was entrapped in the cave several hundred years ago. It gave an eerie feeling. The dusk was fast approaching and the shadows were playing havoc. We wanted to get out fast. At about 4 pm, we came out of the cave, and returned to Zanjan. We reached Zanjan at about 7 30 pm .

On 20^th April the company arranged a trip to Zanjan city for shopping. This time our translator also accompanied us. This time we knew the exact price for dry fruits and chocolates. Zanjan was a beautiful small city, neat and clean. There were many shops selling jewelry, textiles, dry fruits, fancy items, cutlery, furniture, vegetables etc. The ladies costumes that I saw hung in the shops were so gorgeous and stylish that it fascinated me. I had never seen any woman in that attire ever since coming to Iran. I could not resist from asking our translator.

Her reply was immediate: “Do you think that we wear those black dresses always? No, we wear colourful modern dresses inside our houses.” But her face gave away her true feelings; she looked sad and melancholy.

We returned about 1 pm, to the laboratory. 21^st April was our last day in the laboratory.

On 21^st of April, we prepared ourselves to return to India after thirty days of sojourn in Iran. On that morning we went to ythe company to say good byes to our friends there. We did not forget to give some small gift articles that we had brought with us to the Iranian employees who had helped us do the laboratories studies. We also distributed some Indian Agarbathy incense packs, few pens, Pears soap, and Indian tea. We had lunch at the canteen with the Unit Chief and R&D Chief . They gave sweet packets to all of us as token present from their company . At about 2 30 pm, we boarded a taxi to Tehran Airport. Our assignment at Iran was complete.

We reached Tehran Airport at about 5 00 pm. Our flight to Dubai was scheduled at 10:15 pm. Till 7.00 pm we just moved around to see the Airport. At about 7.45, our CMD arrived at the Airport We went and greeted them. Our CMD was also traveling in the same flight to Dubai. We were overwhelmed the way he spoke to us, without formalities, without any barriers. He never acted as CMD and we, his employees. His simplicity, his guilelessness, his concern for our welfare… all moved us. He enquired whether we have any plan to see Dubai. We said we would be happy to break the journey and see Dubai. He encouraged us to break the journey to enjoy our brief stay at Dubai.

At about 8 pm, we went into the check in area, and from there to the economy class waiting lounge. At 10 30, the Emirates flight noEK 0970 took off with us to Dubai. We found that those ladies who had come to Tehran Airport in pardah/ burkha were now wearing modern dress in the flight. Interestingly there was a Brahmin lady from India , who came with her husband, among the burkha clad ladies.

Our plane reached Dubai airport at about 12 midnight. From the sky itself Dubai city looked beautiful. We had never seen such a beautiful illumination before. It was splendid. Then came the announcement of our landing at Dubai. Dubai time was 11.30 p.m. - 30 minutes behind Iran time. After getting out of the plane, we went straight to the transit visa counter. It was easy to locate the counter since on our onward journey we had spent five hours at the same airport. By 11.45 p.m we were at the counter.. our relatives who had come to receive us also waiting outside the airport. We got the transit visa at about 4 30 am. Our 5 hours waiting was finally over.

When we came out I was sorry for my son in law, daughter and their three year old son for having to wait for me for more than 5 hours. I felt wretched as soon as I took my grandson in my arms for the child looked so weary without any sleep. I could have hired a taxi and went to their residence without disturbing their sleep. .

At Dubai, we visited many places and did some shopping. . On 24^th morning at 1 am I was back at Dubai airport. My Cochin flight was at 3.35 am.

Sharp at 3 35 am flight no.EK 530 took off from Dubai airport to Cochin, The Emirates flight was most enjoyable

At about 4 am breakfast was supplied, and drinks to those who wanted. I was wondering who would consume liquor at 4 am. To my surprise 75% of the male passengers gulped down brandy, whisky, Becardy…at that odd hour without any hesitation. When I asked for a tea, the airhostess smiled as if I was an odd man out in that coterie of drunkards.. While others were sipping their drinks, I just sat there idiotically looking at them. The airhostess was busy supplying drinks.

After sometime, she approached me again and asked whether I needed anything. Though I politely denied with a ‘no, thank you’, she came back with a glass of fruit juice and gave it to me. It was about 5 45 a.m.

At sharp 7 30 am the plane landed at Nedumbassery airport. “It is 9.00 a.m. in Cochin”, the announcer said. We looked at our watch: it showed just 7.30. Once again we moved the needs to match the local time. After the emigration clearance and custom check, I moved to where my wife and son were waiting outside.

At last I was back home, after a month long stay abroad. My happiness was profound. I wished someone had said, Welcome Home, Sasi, Welcome!

TIRUNELLI

2009-04-05T10:04:00.000-07:00

A shrill sound tore through the darkness and shook me up. It took me sometime to realise that it was the alarm clock that broke my deep slumber. I had set it at 5 O’ clock to wake me up. It was November 5th, the day we would be going to Thirunelli in Wynad for immersing the ashes of my parents in the Papanasini. It was at Papanasini where Lord Rama, who after conquering Ravana’s army in Sri Lanka, had offered obsequies for all those persons killed in the battle.

I washed my face , brushed my teeth, and sat down at the table for my usual morning tea.

“No tea till will be served until you’ve had your bath.” It was my wife Vidya. “You’ve to observe certain rituals on this day”, she added. “Damn it”, I muttered and walked to the bath room. The shower damped my ill-mood. Later when I was leisurely running the comb through the sparce hairs that remained on my shining pate faithfully after all these years, I was shocked to see a disiccated man staring at me from the mirror. The realisation that I had become old hit me like a wet towel. The bald head accentuated the age . Presently Vidya came with a cup of hot green tea. It bolstered my sagging morale. While sipping the tea, I realised that one year had gone by since my parents had died. How quickly time moves!

Indeed I missed them terribly. For sometime I just sat there unable to shake off the loss. Then I got up, resolutely. I could not mourn anymore. I had to collect the ashes of my parents’ remains from my sister’s house. Her house was close by. There I found all my brothers and sister waiting for me - since I was the eldest. Being the eldest, I had to observes some rites. I removed my shirt, and wearing only a dhothi, I trodded to the nearby pond inside our compound. The water was cold. It soothed my inner turmoil. I immersed myself three times, and stepped out, without drying myself. In the meantime, my sister had lit the traditional lamp, ‘Nilavilakku’, near the spot where we had buried the ashes in earthern pots one year ago. A strange pang of grief gripped me as I began to dig them out with my bare hands.

My brothers also joined me in removing the earth. My sister, her husband, and the wives of all my brothers watched us, chanting prayers. Finally we located the pots. They were safe. The pots were covered with a crimson silk cloth, and wrapped with polythene sheets. I cleaned off the mud from the pots and kept them in front of the ‘nilavilakku’ .

All were standing silently, their eyes misty. This was the only remnants of my parents! In a few hours, this would also be dissolved in water!

My father and mother had lived together happily for a long sixty years, and died within the span of ninety days. Indeed, even in death, they were together. So we decided that the ashes would also be immersed together.

I covered them in another red cloth, decorating it with white jasmine flowers having good frageance. Then we lighted some agarbathy as last tribute to them, and prayed silently to give their soul peace.

It was time to leave. My sister stood guard as we left for getting properly dressed. We did not wish to leave the pots unattended. A few minutes later, we returned, and put the pots in a newly purchased bag. By that time, the rented tempo-traveller had come. All four brothers, their wives, our sister and her husband scrambled into the tempo, and the exactly at 7 am the vehicle surged forward on its way to Tirunelli.

Inside the vehicle, I kept the bag containing the ashes right on my lap, and never let it down any where. Whenever we stopped for food, one of us would remain with the bag. I had a strange feeling that our parents were accompanying us through out our pilgrimage.

I even imagined what they would be talking about. When we stopped somewhere for food, my mother might be saying, ”we have reached Trichur, our children have gone for breakfast. I am very sad…we have to leave them for ever in few hours…” Such thoughts turned me maudlin. Tears welled up in my eyes. Strangely no one spoke much. It was said that mother was a string and sons and daughters were mere beads attached to it. When the string snaped, the beads would fall apart. But by their grace, we were still together; not disjointed.

By about 4 p, we reached the base of the big mountain from were the ghat road began. The climb was arduous. The van pitched up slowly. On either side of the road, there were thick forests with dark abysses. A false move, and we would all be dead.

Our driver told us that we had to cross the forest before the darkness fell. Here, wild elephants roamed freely. I craned my head to see whether I could spot an elephant somewhere. The faeces on the road indicated their presence. A few monkeys, dangling over the treetops, jeered at us, hoping to get some food. Presently we reached the town called Kalpetta, the district headquarters of Wynad. We continued our journey from there to Mananthavadi, and entered another thick forest. For miles, there was no sign of habitation. By 6 pm, darkness had descended everywhere. There was slight drizzling, and the climate turned frosty. Tiny hamlets appeared in the midst of the jungle. Suddenly the temple came to our view.

Papanasini at Tirunelli is beneath the Brahmagiri hill, about seventy miles from Calicut. This place was known as Banares of South. It was believed that Lord Brahma himself had installed the idol of Lord Vishnu, the presiding deity of the temple.

The temple rested on a hillock. From there a steep flight of step lead to the Papanasini, which literally meant freedom from all sins. It was believed that the rivers of this place would wash away the sins of all mortals, dead or alive.

There were a few shops. The guest house, run by the temple authorities, where we had booked five double rooms, had bare minimum convenience. There was no electricity, thanks to incessant rain. A man whom we befriended at the temple, became our guide. He explained that the electricity-men could not go to the inner forest to locate the trouble due to the rain. The lights that we were seeing was from a generator, which would be switched off at 10 p.m, and we had to depend solely on candle lights. He did not forget to warn us not to move out in the night because elephants could descend from the hills, and trample around. He, however, offered his help in immersing the ashes, and completing the rituals. We were new to this place, and so we decided to engage him. He promised to return by 5.45 a.m, and left. And we prepared ourselves to take rest. The darkness and the quietness were quite disarming. From somewhere the water giggling through the valley could be heard faintly. Although I was tired out by the long journey, sleep did not come easily.

Sharp at 5. 45 am he knocked at our door. We collected the pots and followed him. He took us through a narrow cobbled lane through the forest where one had to walk behind the other in a row. Different species of birds made different, strange sounds. I tried to identify the birds from their beckoning. I could count more than 11 types. Apart from the singing of birds, the only sound was the susurrant flow of water. Finally we reached the specified spot. A wonderful stream in the middle of the forest. On either side there were thick forest. The water flowed over smooth round balls of rocks which rolled slowly in the water. The water looked clean and pure. It had a milky appearance due to its fast movement. The guide asked us to stand near the stream and pray for the departed souls before opening the pot and emptying the contents into the flowing water. The ashes and pieces of bones of our dear parents disappeared so fast as though to reach the heaven quickly. Finally, the earthern pot was crushed and thrown into the water. The clothes that covered the pot were deposited into a concreate waste bin that was kept on the shore. It took only a few minutes to complete the obesequies.

With heavy heart, we returned to the guesthouse, and had another bath. After praying at the temple, we climbed the hill to the place from where the stream orginated. Treading slowly through the forest, we reached an upstream of the same stream in which we had immersed the ashes. There, under the guidance of a priest, some mantras were recited. When the expiatory rites of one batch was over, the next family squated before the priest. Before beginning the rituals, we were asked to take a dip in the stream, perhaps to cleanse ourselves. A pond was formed in the middle of the stream with the help of a bund where we were directed to take plunge, and recite a short prayer. The water was icy cold. I was shivering and could not utter a single word because of the clattering teeth.

I had never taken a bath in such an icy water before!

After the bath, we felt refreshed, and presented ourselves in our wet clothes before the preist. He directed us to stand in the stream with folded hands. The water was only one or two feet deep. In front of us there was a big flat rock. As directed by him, we did different rites on the flat rock, which lasted for about 10 minutes. When at last we clambered over , our legs were numb, as though there were no limbs below the knee.

It was only when we began to climb down to the guest house that we could observe the the beauty of the nature. Many undulating hills, various types of trees, strange looking birds, the milky water, tiny rivulets… The return of the dead to the nature was complete.

We reached the bottom of the hill. Once again we prayed at the temple. I felt as though we had severed all connection with the dead. Was it a tear that glistened on my eyes as I returned from the temple? I was not sure.

We had to return to our lives. As the tempo van crackled to life, and began to move forward on its return journey at 10 30 am, we mumbled a silent prayer:

Goodbye father! Goodbye mother! We shall not forget you. Thanks for everything you’ve done for us. Thank you! Thank you!

A CHILDHOOD NOSTALGIA

2009-04-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

As usual my wife was glued to the TV screen where her favorite serial Manasaputhri was on, and I, resting to regain my breath after my usual evening brisk walk. But my mind was nowhere in that room . It fluttered without any direction!

Summer is almost over, and monsoon is in the offing. The rains will come in June. Then it will be only one more month before it reaches July. Soon it will be July fourth. The much awaited day when Unni, my five year old grandson will be visiting us. He is now in Abu Dhabi with his parents. We are all eagerly waiting to see him. Yet a strange anxiety haunted me. How will my daughter and son inlaw in Abu Dhabi feel when they return home in the evening after their son Unni left for India? I wondered aloud to my wife. “Surely they will terribly miss him. They will feel emptiness, boredom and cheerless." her reply was quick. Perhaps she had experienced similar emotion when our daughter went abroad after marriage. "But it is only for a month or so. We are not going to keep Unni here permanently," she said to console herself, without taking her eyes off the TV.

"That’s right, but the boy has never been separated from them even for a day till this date," I reminded her.

Both of us were silent for some time.

It was then the doorbell sounded. “Who is coming at this hour?” my wife said, irritated at the interruption of missing some of the interesting scenes in the TV programme, and went to open the door.

“Oh! Come in, come in...," she invited in a pleasant voice. How quickly we change our tone, I smiled as I got up to receive the guests.

They were five people, all from our locality. I knew everyone by name. I was certain they were here for donation for some silly cause like a local a progamme of football match, ganamela, or something like that. If they have no money, why conduct such things? Without showing annoyance, I offered them seats, and asked my wife to get them some tea.

Apologizing for the disruption, and without much preamble, the oldest among them,pesident of our Residence association who appeared to be their leader, informed me the purpose of their visit. The Girls High School of the locality badly needed renovation, and a committee has been formed to execute the renovation. They are at my home to request for some financial help.

Suddenly an invisible chord in me snapped at the mention of “Girls High School , My mind flew many years backwards, and I found myself a 7 year old. I was then studying in the primary school, and since we have to cross the main road, my grandmother had arranged a 15 year old girl named Chinnamma to accompany me on my way to the school and back. But my timing and Chinnamma’s timings were not the same. My classes ended at 12.30 pm whereas Chinnamma’s school broke for lunch at 1 pm. So every day at 12.30 I would run from my school to this girls High school and wait there till 1 pm. For me those 30 minutes appeared long time. Normally I would stand on the veranda where the bell was hung and when the Peon came to ring the bell I would close my ears with my little hands. I didn’t want my ears blown out! I would then watch the girls in colourful dress running out as if they were escaping from some den. It was such a pretty sight resembling so many butterflies flurring…

Those butterflies have all gone away. The school building is now in bad shape. But my childhood memories still remained. I could not detach myself from that school!

I took the cheque book and wrote a good amount, much above the visitor’s expectation. They thanked me profusely and left after taking tea my wife had offered.

I leaned back on my chair and closed my eyes, as my wife tuned on “Manasaputhri” once again.

I tried to bring back my thoughts again to Unni. He is now five years old and studying in first standard. I too was young like him when I was escorted to school by Chinnamma. Where is Chinnamma now? Is she alive or dead? She must be 69 or 70 years old if she is still alive. Perhaps she would have become a great grand mother!

I experienced a strange desire to see her again! I could not help smiling to myself, when I thought of her. Chinnamma was indeed very pretty, but she came from a poor family. Her house was a tiny hut. On our way back from school in the afternoon, she used to give me painful pinch on my buttocks to walk faster, because she had to go to school again after lunch, but I had no classes in the afternoon. One day she said she would not pinch me any more if I bring some talcum powder for her from my home. It was an offer I could not resist to escape from her pinches. She was excited when I handed over a small packet containing talcum powder the next day. She hold me tight and gave me a solid kiss on my cheek. I was surprised, but pleased. Since that day, I never got any pinch. I became a small talcum powder thief. The Cuticura powder tin began emptying fast. It didn’t worry me; I wanted to make her very happy.

On those days we used to cultivate Tapioca. I would steal big tapioca for her and cut it into pieces to hide in my school bag. The tapioca and talcum powder made us more confederate. This went on for sometime till Chinnamma stopped going to school.

I felt sorry for her. Poor girl, or rather poor woman!

Now my grandson is five year old. I wonder whether there will be another Chinnamma to escort him, and help him cross streets. Perhaps not. Now there are school buses to take the child from door step. But if there was no Chinnamma, I would have given the committee people a petty sum of fifty or hundred rupees. Chinnamma would never know that she has indirectly helped her school to get a good donation fo its renovation..

My wife wearily got up. The TV show was over; another one began. I also got up with the hangover of a childhood memories, to partake dinner…

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

2009-04-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

I was no stranger to cataract. It runs in our family for more than four generations.

Everyone from my grandmother, mother, father… had undergone cataract surgery at one time or the other. The cataract surgery used to be a long 10mm incision below the cornea with 2 to 3 days of admission in a hospital. This has reformed into a 2 mm incision with no stitches. And so when it was my turn to lie on the operation table for a cataract surgery, I was not at all frightened. I had full confidence of Aravind Eye Hospital at Madurai .

When the D day came, I got up well before my usual time and by 5.30 a.m. I had a simple breakfast of two idlies immersed in a small pool of delicious sambar, and a cup of strong tea. At 6.30, the attendants came to take me to the ‘preparation room’ where I found that I was not a lone patient looking at the world with faulty vision. There were ten others in different beds waiting for their turn. They looked up as I came in, and I could see a strange sense of fear in their already declared defective eyes.

Near my bed, there was a case sheet with two red stickers on it. As I lay down, I studied the sheet. On the stickers, it was written: “paid for Acrylic lens. RE.” What does RE mean? Then it struck me: it could be Right Eye. I looked at my co-sufferers. They made no movement. Strangely, all of them had their hands on their chest, as if praying. Indeed, their case sheets were decorated with many stickers: hypertensive, cardiac, diabetic, one eyed… I was thankful that I had none of those stickers.

I had read all about cataract and knew that this commonest disease is a degenerative process leading to opacity of lens fibres known as cataract. I had also learnt that there are many causes of cataract. It could be caused by infection, chemical imbalance or developmental abnormality. It could also be inherited. I found that eye injury, prolonged exposure to ultraviolet light, diabetes, high blood pressure, smoking, malnutrition, certain ocular diseases as well as medications such as steroids might contribute to the development of cataract. It can occur in older people as part of the normal ageing process.

Presently, a nurse strode in and cleaned our eyes, made all of us wear a cap on the head and socks on legs. We were indeed a strange sight to behold. A few minutes later the doctor appeared and without any preamble, he began to fill a syringe with some medicine. He was going to give an injection in the eye! I heard cries from some of the patients. It nearly scared me to death. I was always afraid of injection on any part of my body. This was right in the eye! Cold spiders ran down my spine.

The doctor was a young man with pleasant appearance. He looked at me curiously and smiled. He asked my name, the place where I came from, and about my family and I suspected that the injection would be very painful. He was trying to put me at ease. Then he announced, “I’m going to give you two small injections. One in the eye, and the other on your lower jaw. Nothing to be afraid of.” I nodded my head meekly, and closed my eyes tightly. I didn’t wish to see the needle coming to my eyes. But he insisted that I keep my eyes open. As the needle went through my lower eyelid, stars and asterisks flew around my head. I tell you, that was the only painful experience in eye operation. He removed the syringe and began to rub my eye for sometime, perhaps to spread the medicine around. Then he gave me another shot at the lower jaw. That was less painful. He continued to rub the eyeball. After five minutes or so, he asked me to look at his fingers with my right eye. He moved his fingers and asked “look here, look there …” . I could not tell exactly how many fingers he showed. I was confused. My right eye was totally numb. I touched my nose. Its left side was okay, but there was a void at the right side. I could feel nothing at that side. The doctor appeared strangely pleased. “Take him to the theatre. He is ready!” To tell you the truth, I was not ready at all!

I was wheeled to the number one operation theatre. There were four tables inside the room. Already three patients were being operated. As soon as I lay down on the first table, someone clamped stainless steel guard around my wrists to restrict my movements, and my head was placed between two pillow like thing. I could not make any movement. Good god, are they going to gorge out my eye and do the repair work leisurely? But before I could utter anything, they covered my face with a transparent blue plastic cover. It had a hole of about two inches above my right eye. That was the only portion exposed and I wondered whether the operating doctor could say just by seeing the eye, whether it was a male or a female, old or young.

Then, there were some movements near me. Some green capped heads came and peered at me. I could see some hands and some equipment similar to the one we see at a dental clinic, with large magnifying lens and an ultrasound instrument. I had read that cataract lens is removed by ultrasound, and a new acrylic lens is implanted. In fact, this lens was given to me before I went to the theatre and I was carrying it all along. On the cover it was written that it was made in USA. I expected someone to make an incision on the white part of my eye, take out the defective lens, and implant this made in USA thing. Interestingly, there would be a “foreign object” in my eye as long as I live. That was a wonderful feeling.

I saw more movements around my exposed eye, but I never felt anything piercing it. I head the doctor saying, “give me that sharp chopper”, and I tell you I missed a heartbeat. Chopper? For my poor eye? Good God! I lay there immobile wondering what was happening to me. I never felt anything touching my eyes, though I could see his hands moving above my right eye. To while away the time, I began to count one, two, three… Fifteen minutes must have passed before I heard the doctor saying, “give a saline wash.. Put bandage, Record in the case sheet, temporal incision, PC fibrosis +…” The doctor has gone. Someone bandaged my eye. At last the steel guards and the cover were removed and I was free. They asked me to get up and walk slowly to the post operative ward. Everything was over. It was 9.30 am.

I managed a few hours sleep. At 3 p.m. the doctor came to my bed, removed the bandage and examined my eye. “Very good”, he declared. But I didn’t see anything so good. The light was so strong, as if a 1000w bulb was lit. Everything looked double: the nurse, the doctor… Could it be two nurses, two doctors? I was not sure. I complained to the doctor, and he laughed and said that it would take two days to adjust to the changes they had made.

The next day morning, he came again, and removed the bandage and asked me to read . Every line was clear. I could read even the tiny imprint of the printer: “Printed at…”. The coloured objects were brighter and gorgeous. The double vision had also vanished. The doctor patted on my back and beamed. “Superb!” he said. “You may go home today”, he added. I was surprised and relieved. I had in fact stayed at the hospital just for a day! I looked around with my new eye sight: everything looked bright and beautiful. . Even the hitherto plain looking nurse appeared extremely stunning!

I thanked the doctors and staff of Aravind Eye Hospital,Madurai and medical science for such a wonderful experience.

INTRODUCTION

2009-04-05T09:55:00.000-07:00

PROFILE
Name : C.K.Sasikumaran Nair
Gender: male
Location : Cochin, India.
Qualification: postgraduate in Chemistry
Date of birth: 18th April, Zodiac sign, Aries

About my childhood!

I was born in a middle class Nair family at Edappally, near Cochin. My father had been working as sub inspector of police at that time. India had just become independent and most of the British officers had left. The new desi officers who had taken charge were more despotic and demanding than their predecessors, and perhaps father could not get along well with them. Soon he tendered his resignation and we plunged into real poverty. The responsibility of looking after the family fell on our grand mother.Though we had lot of lands ,there was no income and she was not rich, and so, the peculiar condition made the lives of my mother, me and my siblings miserable. An inferiority complex began to sprout out during the early stages of my life which I believe adversely influenced and retarded personality development as I grew up!

After a few years of frugal existence, my father got a job as a drill master in a private school, and he took all of us to the new location where I lived until I passed my pre-degree exam. Our life there too was not very rosy, but it was much better than living off our grandmother’s meager income. In those days the management of private schools would retrench temporary teachers during vacation, and so for two summer month’s vacation, my father would get no wages and we would spend our days counting the fast dwindling rupee coins till the school reopened. We had scanty dresses, shared umbrellas, and no foot wears. Many a time I had been sent out of the class for defaulting school fees.

I still remember one incident which indelibly stands out green in my memory. My father had purchased some clothes for us from a nearby textile shop on credit. Unfortunately he could not raise the entire amount, and so he gave me some money and asked me to hand over to the shop owner and say that he would pay the balance later. When the shopkeeper saw that my father had sent only a part of the credit he became so angry, and shouting and showering invectives, he flung out all the currency notes I had given him to the midst of a small crowd that had gathered there. I was only 12 years old then. I picked up the notes, crying, and came back home quite despondent. I was immensely sorry for my father. I could see how hard he had been trying to keep both ends meet. It also taught me the pitfall of buying anything on credit.

Another incident that remains vivid in my memory is the love and affection my father had towards me. When I was studying in the 10th standard, my frame was so lean that even a mild wind would have lifted me and flown me around. My father was very concerned, and perhaps he wished to supplement my food with something nourishing so that I could face the public examination in good health! We were five children, and it was not possible to provide everyone with milk. So he made an arrangement with another nearby family who sold milk, and every evening, after the school, I would go to their house where they would give me boiled milk to drink. At the month end my father would pay for it. Looking back, I now know how sorry he would have felt for giving milk surreptitiously to one child to make him healthy, while for others he could not afford.

I cannot recall such incidents now without tears. My life is filled with such tears and smiles. I shall write more about them on another occasion…

Some photographs